Of Love and War Book 5: The Tragedy of Hope

Prologue: Beneath the Burning Suns

(19 Years After the Rise of the Empire)

Grains of sand whipped through the air, scratching along the little exposed skin of his face in what seemed every opportunity it could get. Goggles protected his eyes, and a wrap of fabric wound around his lower face and neck protected the rest. He'd have to shake the sand out of his hair once he got back under shelter, because the hat wasn't doing much to protect it.

Business as usual.

Sand crumbled free of the GX-8 water vaporator sensor, disappearing into the cooler sand that circled around the ground of the machine. There was more to coax out, difficult clumps hiding in hard-to-reach corners, but he had enough experience it wasn't going to be a problem. After the sand was free, he'd check the lubricants—refill them if needed—check the temperature of the refrigeration units and adjust them if needed, then he'd move on to the next.

The end of the day was fast approaching, indicated by the lower position of the suns and temperatures of Tatooine's barren surface. Not only that, but he had a firm grasp of how long it took him to do maintenance on a vaporator that was giving him problems, so he knew how long it would take him to check his share of the 63 vaporators on the Lars property. As a result, he knew he only had about four more, depending on whether or not Owen was almost finished with his share. If not, then he didn't see anything wrong with taking on a few extra vaporators so they could head back to the house at the same time, or at least not long afterwards.

"Got it," he mumbled to himself as a particularly hard-to-reach clump of sand crumbled free so he could scrape it to the ground. On a whim, he glanced up at the twin suns, quickly gauging the time by their position in the sky.

He might just have to finish his half and head back so he wouldn't be too late—if he was needed for the night, then he wanted to be relatively on time. The longer it took him to get back, the less time they'd spend at the cantina.

After one last quick examination to make sure the vaporator was operating at peak capacity, he put away his tools and got to his feet to move onto the next.

Almost done.

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"How did the rest of them look?"

"Nothing worse then usual. Just some sand clogging up the components. A few needed a lubricant refill, two needed temperature adjustments."

"You didn't have to get the others, I could have done them."

He glanced over at Owen with a small smile, knowing it was the other man's own way of saying thank you. "I figured I might as well, that way we can both get back at a decent time. Besides, the Sand People come out the later it gets—I didn't want you out here on your own," he said pointedly.

Owen shifted in the driver's seat, though he couldn't tell if it was from discomfort. "I would've been fine."

Right...but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

He hummed in response rather than speak his mind, fixing his gaze forward as the speeder coasted towards the Lars home. Owen was a stubborn man, possibly one of the most stubborn people he knew—which was saying something. He learned a long time ago arguments with Owen would either end in a loss or a stalemate, not a win.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence, as usual, both of them with gazes fixed forward in the direction of the house, their respective toolboxes resting between them. When they reached the dome entrance, Owen flew past it and instead pulled the Lars family speeder into the garage. They both stayed in the speeder as the lift lowered from the surface into the underground level, gathering their stuff. He undid his face wrap, lifted his goggles, and took off his hat, bundling the gear together and grabbing his toolkit as the lift came to a slightly jerky stop.

It looked like the old lift needed some grease to run a little more smoothly.

He hopped out of the speeder once the lift stopped moving, walking over to the designated spot in the room to shake the sand out of clothes and hair the best he could. Once he was sure he'd shaken off all the sand he could, he put up his toolkit and gear, making his way towards the exit.

"You might want to take a quick shower before dinner, just to be sure," Owen called after him.

"There's no point, I'll just be headed back out anyway," he answered, already disappearing into the main hall of the Lars home.

It was either his answer to Owen or the noise he made as he entered the home, but something alerted Beru to his presence, causing him to shift course, as her voice rang through the house.

"Luke? Luke?"

"Coming," he called back, quickly making his way down the stairs and crossing the courtyard to approach the kitchen. He could see his Aunt Beru within, four glasses of blue milk on a tray that she was brining over to the kitchen table. As the other occupant in the room rose to their feet, Luke's gaze darted to the chrono on the wall to confirm that yes, he was indeed a little late.

"Are you ready to head out?"

Luke approached his Aunt Beru, taking one of the glasses of blue milk from her with a murmured thank you and a brief kiss on the cheek before turning his full attention to the younger of the two woman in the room. "You have a night shift tonight?"

"Not all night. And I do have a shipment coming in, if you want to help out and earn a little extra..." she added leadingly.

Luke hid a smile behind a drink. Of course he wanted to help—extra credits meant he could get some upgrades, and she knew it. "I can help, sure," Luke answered.

She gave him a smile in return to his answer, gratefully accepting a glass from Beru. "Guess that means after dinner we're headed to the cantina before home. Now go get washed up before dinner, like your uncle told you."

Luke didn't bother to hide his smile this time at her teasing tone, already moving to do as he was told. "Yes, Mother."